Locked away in a basement hallway of the George Howard Building, Howard County's Emergency Operations Center looks more like an abandoned computer lab than the brains of county emergency services.
Most days, the Acer computers sit idle, the dozens of phones collect dust and the room is as quiet as a library.
But when a county emergency occurs - from an ice storm to a terrorist attack - dozens of police, fire and government officials flock to the Ellicott City center to coordinate emergency relief efforts.
With the flick of a light switch and the go-ahead from county Fire and Rescue Services Chief Joseph Herr or County Executive James N. Robey, the center can whir to life.
When alarmed residents call 911 during an emergency, some of their calls get bounced to the EOC. Police, health, fire, government and public works representatives each have a computer terminal and phone line from which to communicate with the public and with other service workers.
"It's quiet now, but a blizzard or something similar will bring a flurry of activity," Battalion Chief M. Sean Kelly said.
Since Sept. 11, federal and state politicians and local emergency workers have taken a closer look at how quickly county emergency centers can be up and running.
Democratic Rep. Benjamin L. Cardin, who toured Howard County's center last week, said he was impressed with the county's readiness for disaster.
"Their preparedness is as good as anywhere I've seen in the country," Cardin said. "The work being done in Howard County is what we need to do everywhere."
Howard's EOC has been around since the $6.7 million George Howard Building went up in 1977. County officials estimate they have used the center at least once each year, usually for a weather-related emergency.
William Smith, captain of the Fire Department's Office of Emergency Management, said the center usually settles into a groove about half an hour after it is activated.
"People need to get in here, find their workstations and get organized," he said. "After that happens, things calm down."
Two rows of computers face white dry-erase boards filled with names and phone numbers neatly printed in blue marker. Two television sets are attached on either side of the boards.
Red-brick walls border the front and back of the center, and blue-and-white checkered curtains line windows that face a hallway leading to the 911 center.
The room's centerpiece is a wooden table that holds six important-looking telephones with big orange lights on top.
Each phone has a different label: police chief, fire chief, county administrator, county executive, public works director, emergency center manager.
The EOC has gotten plenty of use in recent months.
The center stayed operational from Oct. 7 through Nov. 21 to manage the influx of anthrax-scare phone calls. Top county officials also gathered there Sept. 11 to brace for terrorist attacks that might directly affect the county.
The tension that day stood in sharp contrast to the last big event that magnetized officials to the center: Y2K.
Two years of planning culminated in one of the most boring New Year's Eve gatherings in town.
From 8 p.m. to 2 a.m. Dec. 31, 1999, public officials sat twiddling their thumbs. When it became clear that the world would continue turning in the year 2000, Robey sent everyone home.
"But, really, that night - boring as it was - was a blessing in disguise," said county spokeswoman Victoria Goodman, who camped at the EOC that night. "It made us take a look at our policies and procedures, and we were ready for Sept. 11."
Cardin said tight budgets and the extra expense of staffing emergency centers and keeping a full force of police and firefighters available can be a burden.
He said the federal government has a responsibility to help local authorities keep their centers ready.
"As a matter of fairness," he said, "the government needs to recognize the real challenges at the local level."
